Davos suppressed his own excitement and said to Marigi, “The city-state is currently wrestling with an empty treasury. Your return is timely. As the Commissioner of Commerce of Amendolara, it is your duty to change our city’s near non-existent state of trade and to increase the revenues of our treasury. I expect you to conduct a thorough survey of the city, think deeply on this matter, and present a sound plan.”

“I will do everything in my power,” Marigi replied, his expression eager.

“And another thing—” Davos began, then stopped himself. It is best to wait a few days before broaching the subject of the marriage proposal. After all, the man has just returned.

Seeing Davos fall silent, Marigi did not dare to ask. Instead, he remembered another matter. “Ah, yes, my lord. Two men from the Pythagorean school in Tarentum came with me on the ship. They said they came at your invitation.”

“Where are they now?” Davos asked urgently.

“I believe they went to find you,” Marigi said, uncertainly.

***

Soon thereafter, in his new residence, Davos met the men from the Pythagorean school: one was named Maticoris, the other Mentoticeles. Neither looked to be over the age of thirty.

“You both seem quite young,” Davos remarked with a welcoming smile.

His words, however, seemed to enrage Maticoris. “In mathematics, the depth of one’s knowledge is not judged by age!” he retorted loudly. “In all of Tarentum, no one can match my skill in rapid calculation! Do you think I came to this remote little city of my own free will?”

Davos chuckled. “And am I not quite young to have become an Archon? If I were to look down upon you for your youth, would I not also be looking down upon myself?”

Maticoris was taken aback.

“In fact, the opposite is true,” Davos continued, his voice now alight with passion. “I am delighted that the scholars sent by the Pythagorean school are young men. Youth brings with it boundless energy. Youth brings with it lofty ambitions. Youth brings with it the courage to shatter convention and to think what no one has dared to think before! In the realm of academia, this is of the utmost importance, is it not?”

Mentoticeles, who had been silent until now, stared at him with wide eyes.

Maticoris muttered, somewhat abashed, “You… you make a very good point…”

“Rest assured,” Davos said, his tone now a warm promise. “I will give my full support to the development of your school in Amendolara. I will provide you with a large residence, free of charge, for you to live and to teach. So long as you abide by the laws of this city, you will be free to develop your school and recruit students without any restriction. I am confident that, with your abilities, you will create a legacy here in Amendolara more brilliant than any of your peers could ever hope to achieve in Tarentum, and in doing so, you will remedy the great regret of your founder, Pythagoras!”

Davos’s promises and encouragement ignited a fire in the two young scholars. They gave him a respectful bow and immediately asked to be taken to their new residence, explaining that after a brief rest, they wished to begin their work at once. This was, of course, exactly what Davos had hoped for. As the two men departed, he could still hear Maticoris’s voice drifting back. “That Archon is not bad! Not bad at all! Much better than the ones in Tarentum…”

“Maticoris, lower your voice! We are still in his house!”

Davos could not help but chuckle.

“Do you truly intend to fully support the Pythagorean school here?” Crystoia asked, emerging from a side room. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice laced with worry. “I have heard that the Pythagoreans have a poor reputation. They are secretive, and they are said to be impious, believing that all things are composed of ‘numbers’ rather than acknowledging the gods. They have clashed with the Assemblies and Councils in many city-states across Magna Graecia. They are not widely welcomed.”

Davos smiled, unconcerned. “What does it matter? Are we Greeks not accustomed to living in harmony with our gods? This is not Egypt, where men are ruled by their deities and impiety is a death sentence. Besides, it is not easy to become a disciple of the Pythagorean school. Aside from a few highly educated nobles, most people cannot pass their tests. This is why their school has never grown large. And what’s more, they are opponents of democracy.”

“Oh…” Crystoia’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “You believe they will support you?”

“Whether they support me or not is of little consequence,” Davos said with a shrug. “But it does mean they are unlikely to cause any major trouble. And do not think they only study mathematics. They have conducted deep research into philosophy, music, art… and one other area that may interest you: in their academic philosophy, they advocate for the equality of the sexes.”

“Truly?” Crystoia asked, surprised.

“It’s true. It is said that Pythagoras’s own wife was one of his students. This I heard from Archytas himself,” Davos said with a smile. “And with them here, your future bank will not lack for employees who can keep accounts and work with numbers.”

“But didn’t you just say their school would never grow large?” Crystoia gave him a sidelong glance, recalling his earlier words.

“Not if they continue to recruit disciples in their current fashion,” Davos said confidently. “But after these two young men have hit the wall a few times, I find it hard to believe they won’t be willing to make a few changes.”

***

At dawn, the mountainsides of Amendolara were a riot of color, a romantic sea of wildflowers, chief among them the purple thyme, which swayed in the mountain breeze, blanketing the city in its rich, sweet fragrance.

From every home, couples emerged, dressed in their finest attire, and converged upon the public square. Soon, the modest plaza was transformed into a joyous tide of humanity, with over fifteen hundred newlywed couples gathered together. The morning sun illuminated their happy, smiling faces, but their shining eyes were all focused on the central platform. There, a statue of Hera, brought all the way from her temple in Metapontum, had been erected. The goddess held a scepter in her right hand, while her left lightly pinched the folds of her garment. A gentle, kindly smile graced her lips as she gazed down upon the newlyweds.

Surrounding the statue were several priestesses in pure white robes, performing a sacred dance and singing hymns of praise. When the initial rites were complete, the High Priestess of Hera stepped forward. Her voice, clear and powerful, carried across the entire square.

“This is a glorious day! The great goddess Hera is here to bear witness to your joyous union! The Hellenes cherish the family above all else. A happy and fulfilling marriage is the sign of a thriving family, and the very bedrock of a stable city-state!”

She took another step forward, leaning towards the crowd. “Hera has entrusted me to ask this of all the men present: ‘Do you vow to shelter your wife from the wind and the rain, to love and cherish her through all hardship, until your life comes to its end?’”

The men, led by Davos, roared their reply without a moment’s hesitation: “I do!”

“And Hera has entrusted me to ask this of all the women present: ‘Do you vow to manage the household for your husband, to bear and raise his children, and to honor and respect him through all hardship, until your life comes to its end?’”

The women, led by Crystoia, replied from the heart: “I do!”

A broad smile lit the High Priestess’s face. “Now, the newlyweds may kiss one another!”

And so Davos and Crystoia, Georgis and Danea, Olivas and Mitra—for the early arrival of the priestesses from Metapontum the previous afternoon had prompted Davos to make a hurried proposal to Marigi on Olivas’s behalf, a proposal the Persian had readily accepted, caring less for Olivas’s reputation than for the fact that he was a close friend of the powerful Archon—and countless other couples gazed into each other’s eyes and shared a sweet, loving kiss.

Observing from the sidelines, Stromboli could not bear to watch. “This violates Hellenic tradition,” he muttered in protest. “It is an offense against public decency! The Censor… the Censor should put a stop to this!”

“The Censor has gone to Tarentum,” Scombras said with a chuckle. “And I, for one, find this ceremony quite interesting.”

“‘A happy marriage is the bedrock of a stable city-state.’ There is great wisdom in those words,” Raphias added with a sigh.

“I have never seen a rite for Hera such as this,” Cornelius mused, a look of puzzlement on his face.

“I heard the Archon went to the High Priestess’s residence last night to discuss it with her. It must have been his idea,” Protesilaus guessed.

“From the way you all speak, it seems your Archon is quite an interesting young man,” said Anlocris, the envoy from Heraclea, a gentle smile on his face as he surveyed the square.

“May the great goddess Hera bless you all!” the High Priestess cried, raising her fisted hands to the heavens in a gesture of pious prayer. Several of her priestesses began to sprinkle holy water over the crowd, and the newlyweds began to sing a hymn to Hera in earnest.

The moment the formal wedding ceremony was over, the city’s firefighters, who had been waiting at the edge of the square with large clay jars full of water, began to hurl the contents into the crowd. Though they had been warned, the women shrieked and dove into the arms of their husbands for cover. The men, while shielding their new wives, tried to wrestle the jars away from the firefighters. The square was filled with the continuous sound of joyful screams, a scene of pure, chaotic celebration.

“How wonderful! How truly wonderful!” Protesilaus exclaimed, his face alight with excitement. He suddenly turned and began to run.

“Where are you going?” Tritodemus called after him.

“To get a water jar!” Protesilaus shouted back without turning.

“A water jar?” Tritodemus was confused for a moment, then he understood. He looked at the joyous chaos in the square, and a grin spread across his face. “Bring back several!” he yelled.

“Yes, bring back several!” Scombras added, his own youthful spirit rekindled. He sighed wistfully. “A pity I married so long ago!”

“It has been a long time since Amendolara has seen such a lively celebration,” Raphias remarked with a sigh of his own.

His words seemed to touch something in Stromboli. He gazed out at the scene, at the mist of water rising in the air, catching the sunlight to form a vibrant, seven-colored rainbow. For a moment, his complaints ceased. “Will there not be a celebration like this every year, from this day forward?” he murmured to himself.